


After the Smoke Clears

by sffan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn With Plot, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:25:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1392694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sffan/pseuds/sffan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles needs a peaceful space. Derek gives him what he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Smoke Clears

**Author's Note:**

> Great big thanks to llaras for the beta. Apparently, I need to TELL the reader what Stiles is thinking/feeling. Who knew?
> 
> Ask any history major - that book Derek is reading is insanely difficult. University professors actually feel bad for their students when they assign readings from it. Mine recommended the application of copious amounts of alcohol.

It’s 11 am on a Wednesday when Stiles arrives at Derek’s door, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair a dishevelled mess from running his hands through it non-stop. Stiles knocks a quick pattern on the door. He fidgets as he waits for Derek to answer. A few moments later, the door slides open.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Derek asks, standing in the open doorway. 

Stiles’ lips twist into an expression that is more grimace than grin and he shrugs. “Yeah. Apparently, massive panic attacks anytime I get within three feet of good old BHHS buys me some ‘you can stay home as long as you don’t fall behind’ time.”

“And you’re here, instead of at home studying, because – ?” Derek asks. The kindness in his voice and his open expression belie the harshness of his words. 

Stiles shuffles the backpack strap and he can feel his cheeks burn with embarrassment. “I’m not doing so well on my own, you know? I can’t seem to concentrate no matter how much Adderall I take and I keep getting trapped in my own dark thoughts. I was hoping I could – ” Stiles trails off as Derek nods his head towards the interior of the loft and moves out of the way. 

“Come on in. Do you want something to drink? I just made tea,” Derek says.

Stiles stops mid-stride and gapes at Derek.

Derek raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“You made tea,” Stiles states. “Which means you drink tea. Mind. Blown.” Stiles mimics an explosion off the side of his head with his hand.

Derek rolls his eyes. “What did you think I drank? The blood of tiny little bunnies?”

“No. Well, yeah. Okay, not really. I don’t know, I just never pictured you drinking tea, all right?” Stiles says as he starts walking again.

Derek sighs and shakes his head. “Do you want some or not?”

“Nah, I’m good. It’ll just make me need to pee,” Stiles replies as he tries to figure out where to park himself. Derek snorts and walks past him towards the couch and the mug of tea sitting on top of a book on the side table. Stiles looks over at the big table that’s under the wall of windows, but just the thought of perching on a hard stool all afternoon to read makes his back ache. “Do you mind if I – ” Stiles says as he gestures towards the couch.

“Go ahead, make yourself comfortable,” Derek replies as he sits down. He retrieves his book from under his mug, flips to a spot that’s been bookmarked and starts reading.

“What are you reading?” Stiles asks as he dumps his backpack on the floor at the foot of the couch and starts digging through it for his Econ textbook.

“ _Hegel’s Lectures on the Philosophy of History_ ,” Derek answers.

It’s the second time in five minutes that Stiles is stunned into motionless silence. If only for a minute or two. “You’ve got to be shitting me!” Stiles exclaims. “I don’t know how to deal with this information, Derek. Not only do you drink tea, you’re a fucking super-genius history nerd? Jesus Christ. Lydia tried to read that thing when we started our unit on Marxism and had to give up after a week.”

“It’s not for everyone,” Derek replies with a slightly smug look on his face and turns back to the book.

“Unbelievable,” Stiles mutters under his breath as he sits down on the other end of the couch, armed with a highlighter, and starts reading. 

A peaceful silence falls over them, broken only by the occasional sounds of pages turning and the squeak of Stiles’ highlighter. Stiles has no idea when he drifts off or how he crossed the foot of space between them on the couch, but when he wakes up, he’s strongly aware of the fact that he’s curled against the solid warmth of Derek’s chest. Derek’s arm is wrapped around him, his hand a comforting weight in the center of Stiles’ back. It suddenly occurs to him that this is the first time in what feels like forever that he hasn’t woken up in a blind panic. He sits up slowly, incredibly grateful that he did not drool, and a little sad as he pulls away from Derek’s embrace.

Stiles runs his hand through his hair, embarrassed. “Uh, sorry about the personal space invasion,” he says. Derek doesn’t say anything, but doesn’t seem particularly put out, so Stiles continues, “How long was I out?”

“About an hour,” Derek replies. He bookmarks his place and closes the book. “You look like you could use some more.”

“Hey, you saying I look like crap?” Stiles asks, faking offense. He knows he looks like exactly what he is – exhausted and stressed out.

“Yes, Stiles. I’m saying you look like crap,” Derek says completely deadpan. “Now, come on, let’s go.” Derek gets up and tucks his book under his arm, standing next to the couch expectantly.

“Where?” Stiles asks, still sleep-muddled.

“Upstairs, dumbass. You can crash on my bed. It’s more comfortable than the couch.” Derek turns and heads up the spiral staircase. Stiles follows Derek into his bedroom. It’s a large room, dominated by another wall of windows. There’s almost no furniture at all – just an end table and a dresser. The bed is the same one that used to sit in the middle of the loft downstairs.

Derek fluffs a pillow and settles on one side of the bed, book in his lap, back against the headboard.

“You just going to stand there? Get in,” Derek says, nodding his head towards the empty half of the bed.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were going to stay,” Stiles says, feeling a bit befuddled.

“Do you want me to go?” Derek asks.

Embarrassed to admit it, Stiles can feel himself blushing. “Uh, no, not really,” he replies. Feeling awkward, Stiles kicks off his sneakers and gets in on the other side. He tries to get comfortable, shifting and turning, and finally settles on his side, facing away from Derek, his back about an inch away from Derek’s thigh. As soon as Stiles stops moving around, Derek shifts his leg so that it’s resting against Stiles’ back. A few deep breaths later, and Stiles has fallen asleep.

The next time Stiles wakes up, his face is smooshed against Derek’s hip and one arm is flung over Derek’s thighs, perilously close to his junk. Derek’s hand is buried in his hair, fingers flexing absently. Stiles shifts his arm away slightly. Derek glances down and slides his hand out of Stiles’ hair. Stiles blinks sleepily up at Derek.

“Hey,” Derek says quietly, his mouth quirked in a tiny smile.

“Hey,” Stiles repeats back as he sits up on his knees, resting back on his heels, facing Derek. Stiles rubs his face and then starts twisting his fingers together in his lap. He watches his hands for a minute, trying to gather his thoughts. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Derek watching him patiently. Stiles takes a deep breath and finally looks up. The silence lingers a bit longer. Derek puts his book aside, clearly waiting for Stiles to say what’s on his mind. 

“Derek, can I ask you a question?” Stiles asks softly.

“Yes,” Derek replies.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” Stiles doesn’t pause long enough for Derek to answer. “I mean, Isaac can’t even be in the same room with me. And even though she does her best to hide it, I guess after the whole life-threatening situation calmed down, some kind of PTSD must have set in, or something? Because Lydia flinches whenever I get too close, now. Everyone else just kind of side-eyes me like I’m a time-bomb waiting to go off, even my dad.”

“I’m sure Scott isn’t – ” Derek begins.

“I...I don’t think so?” Stiles interrupts, “I don’t know because I’ve been avoiding him. I can’t handle being around him. I nearly killed him, Derek. I know it wasn’t me, but I was there, trapped in my own mind. Watching as my hands, my body, worked against my will.” Stiles looks down at his now-trembling hands, his voice going rough with emotion. He can feel the tears well up, but doesn’t bother to wipe them away. “I was trying as hard as I could, but I couldn’t stop the other me, couldn’t stop him from twisting that sword in Scott’s guts, couldn’t, I – I just can’t. He wants to talk to me about it, but how can I? How can he understand? How can anyone?” Stiles is caught up in his own misery, fingers shaking harder.

It’s not until Derek rests his hand on his shoulder in comfort that Stiles remembers. Derek can understand. Derek was forced to kill Boyd by Kali and the twins. Derek wasn’t rescued from the horror of killing someone he cared about by _deus ex veterinariana_ like Stiles was. 

“Oh my god, Derek, I’m _such_ an asshole,” Stiles says, horrified at how selfish he’s being. Stiles looks up and meets Derek’s eyes, expecting to find irritation and disappointment, and sees nothing but understanding and sorrow.

Derek’s fingers tighten briefly on Stiles’ shoulder. “It’s okay, Stiles,” Derek replies quietly. Before Stiles gets a chance to tell him it’s not, Derek says, “You want to know why I’m not afraid of you?” As he talks, Derek cups Stiles’ face gently in one hand, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “I can see you. There’s a reason the Nogitsune kept you away from me as long as possible. Did you never wonder?”

Stiles shakes his head slightly, too shell-shocked by the gentle touch that has sparked the pool of warmth presently flooding through him, to speak.

“I can see your aura. And all I can see is you. Nothing more, just Stiles.” 

“Just me, huh?” Stiles says. 

“Just you.” Derek smiles gently and starts to pull his hand away. Stiles stops him, curling his hand over Derek’s and pressing it against his cheek. His head is turned just enough so that his lips catch on the edge of Derek’s palm. Derek’s hand flexes against his face.

“Stiles,” Derek whispers, brokenly, his breath catching in the back of his throat. Stiles’ eyes widen in surprise. The air is suddenly charged with tension. He looks into Derek’s eyes for a long moment and he can feel his own heartbeat ratchet up with the longing he sees there. Stiles takes a chance and presses his lips more firmly against the palm of Derek’s hand. Derek sways towards him slightly and Stiles nods, free hand coming up to cup the back of Derek’s neck and pull him forwards until their lips meet in a soft kiss.

Stiles would laugh at the irony if his mouth weren’t currently better occupied. Not that long ago Caitlin had asked him, in this same loft, if he liked boys and at the time he genuinely had to think about it. But now, he can’t imagine anything more perfect, more right, than Derek’s lips on his. 

The kisses they trade are soft and slow, almost tentative at first as they figure out how to fit together. Stiles’ hand flexes against the back of Derek’s neck as he deepens the next kiss, brushing his tongue against Derek’s lips until Derek’s mouth opens. Derek moans softly when their tongues touch and the sound jolts through Stiles. Derek pulls Stiles closer with a strong arm around his back. Desperate to get closer, Stiles swings his leg over Derek’s and settles into his lap.

The kisses get wilder and more heated after that. Stiles’ hands are buried in Derek’s hair as he holds his head tilted up to meet his demanding kisses. Derek’s hands find a home on Stiles’ hips, rocking them forward and back in a slow roll that is driving Stiles absolutely crazy with the slow tease of barely-there friction on his dick. 

Stiles drags his mouth away from Derek’s barely long enough to whip off his plaid button-down and shimmy out of his t-shirt. Derek’s hands slide gently up his sides, making his nipples harden and his skin break out in goose bumps. Derek’s hands curl tighter around his ribs briefly, and then start moving along his body, his eyes wide with wonder.

“What?” Stiles asks, starting to feel self-conscious. He shudders and bites back a gasp when Derek’s thumb brushes over a nipple lightly and then more firmly.

Derek looks up at him and gives him a lopsided grin. Derek leans forward and bites gently at the muscle in front of him. He kisses and nips his way up Stiles’ chest and trails soft, sucking kisses up his neck to his ear. “Not so scrawny anymore,” he whispers before tugging gently at Stiles’ earlobe with his teeth.

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles whimpers breathlessly before he turns his head and pulls Derek into a long, searing kiss that leaves them breathless. Stiles reaches down and tugs at Derek’s shirt.

“Off. Off, off, off,” he says impatiently. Derek laughs and skims out of his shirt. Derek shirtless is a sight to behold. Everyone knows that. Derek is often shirtless, or wearing tank tops tight enough that he might as well be. But to get to touch it is a whole new ballgame.

Stiles takes his time exploring the firm planes of Derek’s chest and abdomen, first with fingertips and then with his whole hand, loving the way the muscles jump and twitch under his palm.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Stiles murmurs. He laughs when Derek actually blushes. Stiles kisses him and then moans softly into it when that brings their bodies together. Derek pulls him even closer and kisses him harder.

Derek trails more kisses down his neck, nipping and sucking lightly as he moves his way down to his collarbones. Each brush of Derek’s teeth against his skin sends a sharp jolt through Stiles, straight to his cock. He’s seen a lot of porn and the rough-play has always vaguely intrigued him, but up until now, he’d never experienced it. He and Malia had been so careful with each other, both so inexperienced and frightened of doing something wrong, that neither of them had dared do anything so forceful. Stiles is shocked by how much he likes it – that he’ll have visible proof of Derek’s desire for him on his body.

“You can leave a mark if you want,” Stiles gasps out, fingers digging into Derek’s skin as he pulls him closer. He arches his neck back, giving Derek more room.

He’s not expecting the soft growl he hears before there’s a hand in his hair, pulling his head back, so that Derek can latch onto the sensitive skin of his neck. Stiles shudders and moans his way through the hickey, his hips jerking forwards as his cock surges with the sensation. He’s so hard it hurts, his underwear damp with pre-come and getting damper as Derek makes his way further down Stiles’ neck and leaves another mark over his collarbone.

“Fuck, Derek, I have to come,” Stiles groans out. Derek uses his hold on Stiles’ hair to pull him into a sharp, biting kiss before letting go to move down to the waistband of Stiles’ jeans. He pops the button and unzips them slowly before Stiles runs out of patience and helps him push them and his underwear out of the way, freeing his aching cock from the confines. Stiles moans into Derek’s mouth when his hand wraps around him.

“Fuck. Yes,” Stiles stutters out as Derek starts to stroke him. He fumbles at Derek’s jeans, and after a few false starts, distracted by Derek's fingers on him, he gets Derek’s cock out. It’s hot and heavy and fucking perfect. Derek’s hips surge upwards as Stiles starts to move his hand.

There is no more teasing, no more exploring, just two desperate guys working to get each other off as fast as possible. Their kisses are sloppy and wet, half-forgotten as they moan and gasp into each others' mouths. Derek is surprisingly vocal, a never-ending stream of: ‘Yes, like that, there, fuck, yes, Stiles, just like that,’ pouring from his mouth as Stiles works his cock with firm, steady strokes.

Derek is impossibly good at this, finding everything that works for Stiles faster than he thought possible. It doesn’t take him long to get Stiles just to the edge of orgasm and then with one, last steady, circular stroke over the bundle of nerves under the head, Stiles is gasping and coming, shaking his way through a near-violent orgasm. His come splatters all over Derek’s stomach and cock. As Stiles pants his way through the aftershocks, too loose-limbed to move with any kind of coordination, Derek wraps his wet fingers around Stiles’ hand, and continues jerking himself off. Within seconds, he’s arching into his own orgasm, come spurting between them, adding to the mess.

Derek kisses Stiles firmly as he gropes around for his own shirt to clean them up with. They shimmy out of their remaining clothes and curl up together on Derek’s bed, trading soft, lazy kisses before settling into a semi-doze. 

Stiles is playing with Derek’s hand – curling his fingers around it, lacing their fingers together, comparing the size – when he says quietly, “So, uh, that happened.”

“Yeah, it did,” Derek replies, before pressing a kiss to Stiles’ forehead.

“Where does it go from here?” Stiles asks, reluctantly. He can’t decide if he wants to know the answer or not. But he feels the need to ask the question.

“It goes wherever you want it to go, Stiles. It’s entirely up to you. Life’s been pretty shit for you lately, so if you’re not ready for anything serious – ” Derek trails off and shrugs.

Knowing full well that Derek can hear his heartbeat and smell his emotions, Stiles knows there’s no real sense in pretending to be nonchalant about his reaction to Derek’s words, but he does it anyway, “And if I were?”

The smile Derek gives him makes his heart skip a beat. “Then I would like that. I would like that a lot,” Derek replies before pulling him into a deep, sensuous kiss that is a promise of so much more. Stiles settles into the curve of Derek’s embrace and feels safe for the first time in months.


End file.
